Team chef's food a hit with Giants

Joe Day, the chef for the San Francisco Giants, made chicken and orzo soup on Monday, April 2, 2012 in San Francisco, Calif.

Joe Day, the chef for the San Francisco Giants, made chicken and orzo soup on Monday, April 2, 2012 in San Francisco, Calif.

Photo: Russell Yip, The Chronicle

Photo: Russell Yip, The Chronicle

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Joe Day, the chef for the San Francisco Giants, made chicken and orzo soup on Monday, April 2, 2012 in San Francisco, Calif.

Joe Day, the chef for the San Francisco Giants, made chicken and orzo soup on Monday, April 2, 2012 in San Francisco, Calif.

Photo: Russell Yip, The Chronicle

Team chef's food a hit with Giants

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The 2012 San Francisco Giants returned to AT&T Park earlier this week for the annual preseason Bay Bridge series with the Oakland A's. For the team, it was an opportunity to iron out kinks before Friday's opener in Arizona, to polish the cleats and whip out the pine tar in front of a big crowd.

But while the players got back in shape on the field, team chef Joe Day was relighting the stoves in the clubhouse, trying to help them maintain their shape off the field, too.

The key to being the chef for the San Francisco Giants, says the 27-year-old Day, is to keep the players happy.

That's not always as straightforward as it might seem, because the food - three meals a day, for about 50 players and staff, all made by one person - has to be healthy, too.

"I made a risotto one day and they were like, 'What the hell is this?' They want something simple and they want it to taste good, but you have to trick them and make it healthy."

Usually that means relying on lean proteins and complex carbohydrates, and reconfiguring fat-laden comfort dishes.

The formula for success is not always painless though, as Day learned when he got rid of the clubhouse's hot dog machine.

The hot dog machine was such a touchy subject that it had to be gradually phased out over three years, and there was one particular instance where former player Randy Johnson - all 6 feet, 10 inches of him - stormed into the kitchen demanding it (perhaps with a few more select adjectives).

Not one to mince words, Day retorted that if Johnson wanted a hot dog, he'd make him a hot dog (perhaps with a few more select adjectives). The machine, though, was on its way out.

Day may only be in his 20s, but he's already got plenty of time in the fire, not to mention cooking chops.

Before becoming the Giants' chef in 2009, Day spent nearly six years working at San Francisco fine dining destination Restaurant Gary Danko as a cook and as a server.

Along the way, he met Barry Zito - Day's mother was Zito's chiropractor. Zito was on the A's at the time, and arranged for Day to do some catering for fellow players.

"I knew he was working at Gary Danko and that he was incredibly gifted - and young at the time, for that kind of position," Zito recalls.

Before the 2009 season, Zito - now a Giant - asked Day if he was interested in becoming the team chef. At first, Day declined. He had always been a big baseball fan (he grew up rooting for the A's), but was happy at Gary Danko. However, he quickly reconsidered.

When Day took over in April 2009, he implemented a health-oriented program - a big transition for a group of players ruled by habit and hamburgers.

"For a while, he kept his mouth shut and did his job, slowly gaining the respect of the players. That's how it works when you're getting into the big-league atmosphere."

Now, Day has a good rapport with the guys, whom he counts as his co-workers, diners and often, friends.

"If you treat them like a normal person, they'll respect you more," Day said. "Because nobody treats them like a normal person."

On a typical day when a night game is scheduled, Day leaves his home around 8 a.m. He does all his own grocery shopping, and is at the ballpark by 10 a.m. His daily spread always includes a sandwich station, a salad bar and fresh soup, made daily - but beyond that, it's whatever he wants to cook. That said, he knows that complicated Danko-esque reduction sauces won't fly.

Day checks in with team nutritionists to make sure he's following guidelines, but also takes player requests. The Southern guys like turkey and gravy; the Latin contingent approves of his plantains.

"I'll make whatever they want. I'll change the recipe, of course, but they're not going to know that. They're just going to know if it tastes good or not."

Day gets help from the clubhouse staff - Mike Murphy, Zak Welsh, Ron Garcia, and Marco and Dominic Alioto - in setting up and cleaning up. He goes through as much as 80 pounds of meat a day. He is pretty much a one-man show - no sous chefs in a clubhouse kitchen.

"I don't think I want to open a restaurant, but I would like to just continue to learn," he says. "I'm happy where I am. I'm lucky. Dumb lucky."

And it's fun. You can find YouTube videos of Day doing karaoke with Giants' closer Brian Wilson, and after an offseason learning about metalworking and welding, he's making a scooter for a player or two.

"You can safely say that we all get along and I'm glad, thankful for that."

He sips his coffee and smiles.

"But who doesn't want to be friends with the guy who makes your food?"